Those Legs! That Butt!
by Takebuo Ishimatsu
Summary: So, Wally's a runner, right? So, he's gotta have fantastic legs and a butt that just *is*, right? Well, someone's gotta notice sooner or later. Wally was hoping for later. Written for a prompt in yj anon meme. No pairings.


**Title: **Those Legs! That Butt!  
**Author: **Takebuo Ishimatsu  
**Pairing(s): **None  
**Summary: **So, Wally's a runner, right? So, he's gotta have fantastic legs and a butt that just *is*, right? Well, someone's gotta notice sooner or later. Wally was hoping for later. Written for a prompt in yj_anon_meme. No pairings.

**Disclaimer: **I not own Young Justice.

**The Prompt:**

_**So there's a lot of "Dick has a smexy butt" prompts.**_

_**But Wally RUNS. And therefore has THE AWESOME LEGS AND ASS OF A TRACK STAR.**_

_**I want someone, anyone, or multiple someones! checking out his ass/legs. Preferably while stretching or something.**_**  
**

Mr. McCormick sighed at the sound of something being knocked over behind him. Turning slowly, he wasn't surprised to see one of the kids slowly picking up the football wrack he'd toppled into, a dark blush creeping up to match his hair. The same kid who'd walked right into him when he'd stopped the new class outside the locker room yesterday.

He resisted the urge to yell at the geeky little clutz, if only to save himself from his wife's, the biology teacher's, wrath. Apparently the redhead was some sort of prodigy: got 100's on college-level tests, worked on projects involving complex theories of relativity, was going to cure cancer and diabetes and AIDS _and_ unlock all of their Jedi mind powers when he got older. That sort of stuff.

Or, so his wife kept insisting. Truthfully, he doubted such claims, considering the kid didn't seem able to pay attention to anything more than two minutes at a time, but who was he to argue with the great Dr. Melissa McCormick? If the woman said he had to be nice to the kid so that he could grow up to stop world hunger, then he'd damn well be nice to him.

That didn't mean he couldn't glare at West with enough heat to smolder that lily-white skin of his if he didn't move his ass and pick those footballs up faster.

Honestly, the kid was slower than poop.

He barely nodded in response to the boy's mumbled "Sorry, sir," as he took his place in line on the field.

" Now that _everyone's_ ready," the boy shifted awkwardly, looking towards the ground, "we're going to start off with some basic stretches. I'm sure you boys all know how to touch your toes?"

He indicated that they spread their legs apart and start with the right side, before starting to walk around.

"Down a little more," he ordered, gently pushing on one of the boy's upper back. The kid moaned but did has he asked, "That's it."

Walking behind them, he noted their postures, "Good job, Jovic. Gonna need more practice...," he paused, trying to remember the next kid's name, before shrugging and continuing down the line. It was only the second day, after all.

And so he continued, telling the boys to switch off every ten seconds as he observed which of them was good, which of them needed some more exercise, and which of them were just plain hopeless.

He'd already mentally put West in the last category, when he actually reached the kid and stopped dead.

Good God! Those legs! Those were championship legs, right there! And that ass! That ass knew what it meant to _run_.

He stared for a moment before quickly snapping himself out of it. The last thing he needed was being labeled as a creeper by his wife's favorite pupil. (Even if she was more apt to snicker at him than believe him a dirty old man.)

Making a split decision, he changed the day's planned routine from some basic football to laps and stretching.

With legs like that, the kid had to be a serious runner. Probably a quick little shit too, if his lean frame was any indicator of how much exercise he got on a regular basis. The school could use a new track star after Alice Starter had graduated last year.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to forfeit his coveted trophy to Davidson High School after all!

"Ok boys, now that those legs of yours are all stretched out, take a hike," he said, pointing towards the far end of the football field.

He smirked at their groans, watching as they all took off at a jog.

He yelled, "Run it like you mean it!" and was pleased when they picked up their speed.

He eagerly scoped out West (not that the kid was hard to find with that hair), waiting...waiting...

His brows drew together at the boy's complete _lack_ of speed. Really, he was practically lollygagging.

Well, wasn't that disappointing?

BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY

The next day, after a long night of contemplation and review of the other's run over and over in his mind, McCormick thought he might have figured it out. The boy had the _ability_ (that butt didn't lie, as much as that thought made him feel like he was a child molester in waiting) but not the _will_. West hadn't wanted to run fast the other day. McCormick would bet his trophy on the boy having been holding back.

So, the question then, was why?

Lack of sleep? Poor eating? Big test to worry about?

Well, whatever it'd been, the kid standing before McCormick right then looked bright and cheerful, so he figured whatever it was had passed.

Then again, that might have had something to do with him _not _feeling an acute sense of embarrassment over running into inanimate objects. (McCormick had made sure to move every possible obstacle far out of the way before the boy had stepped onto the field. The last thing he needed was his future track star spraining an ankle.)

"Ok boys, your favorite," he said once they'd finished their stretches, "More running!"

They groaned pitifully, but started towards the far end of the field with no further prompting.

He watched on, a triumphant smile on his face as West...as West.

Jogged.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say the brat was doing it on purpose, just to see him cry inside.

BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY BREAKY

Obviously, there was something wrong with the boy as a whole; he wasn't just having an off day.

McCormick had done some digging after his disappointment the previous class and felt he might have figured out the problem.

All of his in-depth research, i.e., asking his wife what she thought and ignoring her cries for him to "leave the poor boy alone," had led him to one conclusion: West was a nerd.

He did nerdy things. Had nerdy friends. Liked nerdy classes. The works.

He was _not_ a jock of any sort.

There was, in fact, a very good likelihood that the boy had been coerced into some sort of track exercise program by his parents years ago, but didn't actually _enjoy_ running. He'd encountered such students before.

There'd been a gymnast a while back who'd been a sure-shot for the Olympics before she'd dropped the art altogether once she'd hit eighteen. (Apparently, she'd always wanted to take up Monster Truck driving. Who'd have thought?)

So, if the boy didn't enjoy running, his task was perhaps a bit harder than he'd originally thought.

But, not impossible.

"Ok boys, running again!" Really, by then, he was sort of starting to get a sick pleasure out of the little noises of disapproval his class let out. If nothing else, it held off the pain of failure whenever West refused to do as he was not-told.

"However," he continued before they could take off, "I'd like to up the ante today! The first person to the goal and back can skip P.E. all next week!"

Perhaps not the best reward, parent-approval-wise, but he hadn't really been able to think of anything West might want without making it glaringly obvious he had his eye on the kid. And, really, it wasn't like the boy wouldn't get plenty of exercise once he was on the track team.

" Everybody line up straight!" He eyed West and...Good Lord, was the boy _calculating?_

He watched as the redhead shifted his gaze from his position to the pole, then around to his fellow students. McCormick swore he was muttering to himself.

He shook himself out of his stupor, trying to remember just what the kid was.

Geeky little science prodigy with some math nerd thrown on top. Probably had more brains than the entire football team put together, times two.

Right. No problem. Kid could do Pi in his head for all he cared, so long as he kept their track and field trophy away from that bastard Ruug, at Davidson.

"Go!" he yelled.

His eyes kept pace with West, watching as the boy passed another kid and then another and then another! Finally, after passing his quarterback, Jovic, the wirey little geek (God, he was going to buy that kid a physics textbook) whipped around the goal and darted back to him.

"Sweet! I won!" he all but bounced on his heels, before he looked back his fellow students. His grin fell away as the redhead noticed how far behind the others were.

"Um..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

McCormick held up a hand to silence the kid. Yelling over the field, he said, "Early class today! Hit the showers once you're done!"

"Right, I'll be going then..." West tried, only to stop as the teacher shook his head.

"Not you, West. I have something to talk to you about."

The boy shifted around uncertainly as McCormick waited for the other the students to pass out of hearing range.

When he felt they were finally alone, he all but shouted at the kid, "Do you know what that was!"

"Um..." the boy paled, leaning away from him.

"That was Olympic level stuff, kid! With a little more training, you could be the next gold medalist!" he said excitedly, waiting for the boy's reaction.

West rubbed the back of his head, "Um..."

...Which was somewhat not as thrilled as he'd hoped, but he supposed he could work with it.

" Come on, kid. Think of the prestige you'd get, even as a basic competitor! And then once you win," Because, really, there was no chance the kid could _lose_ with legs like that, "think of all the sponsorship you'd get! Commercial deals! Product endorsement! You could-you could-" Right, had to remember he was talking to science boy, "build up enough money to start your own research firm."

West actually seemed to think about it before shaking his head, "Sorry, I'd really just like to focus on my academics."

"Well, you know, companies like to see that their employees are well rounded. If you joined the track team..." McCormick trailed off, seeing the "no" plain in the other's face, even if he didn't say anything.

"Actually, my uncle says he can get me a job at the Central City crime lab, if I keep my grades up. I want to be a CSI like him," West said, looking proud.

McCormick sighed, knowing his wife would divorce him if he tried to run a child off a "sturdy path to success." (Not having seen the kid show that field who's boss, his lovely lady wouldn't realize that the Olympics _were_ a sturdy path for West.)

"Ok, West. Hit the showers," he mumbled, waving the other off. He sighed as he watched the boy jog over to the locker room.

Those legs! That _butt_!

He sighed again, before jumping.

Turning slowly, he looked at the boy down at the far end of the field and then down at the football that had landed a few feet from him.

Good Lord. With a kick like that...

"You!" the kid froze in terror, "Do you know what that was!"

**AN: **Well, kind of an odd take on the prompt, but, overall, I like it. ^_^ See any mistakes? Have any comments?

Also, I have posts up for **Help_Japan** and **F**. Links in my profile.


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